Giving Up, Giving In
by fc2001
Summary: It's a love triangle/consequences type story, with much angst and much guilt. There will definitely be more of it - just give me time!
1. What's Done Is Done

I own nothing and no one used in this fic - they belong to someone else,somewhere else. I don't own the title either - it's a song (something I only found out after I titled the fic)  
I'll leave you to decide who "he" is - although there are hints later in the fic.  
  
"Come on, girl, wake up. You know you want to,"  
And I want you to! Don't die for Gods sakes don't die. I can't deal with it. Why couldn't she open her eyes? Just some sign. All that he heard were the regular hiss of the ventilator and the steady bleep of the heart monitor. It was eerie. He couldn't live like this, with the uncertainty, knowing that whatever the outcome it was it would be his fault. Flashbacks had haunted him from the moment it happened and he wished life had a rewind button more than  
anything at this point. He rested his elbows on the bed and closed his eyes - judging his environment purely by sound. What exactly had happened? He remembered fighting with Kovac and the next thing she was lying in a crumpled heap on the landing below them. The bit in between was a bit fuzzy and he hated that. Why had she tried to intervene? She wouldn't be where she was now if she'd just let them kick the hell out of each other. No, it wasn't her fault. It was his fault.  
"My fault,"  
He muttered under his breath, to no one in particular except himself.  
"What are you doing here?"  
The tone came across as confrontational, almost territorial. He had to be submissive.  
"I'll go. There's no need to be nasty,"  
"I think there's every need to be nasty,"  
"Don't lets fight again, look where it got us already,"  
Looking sadly at her prostrate form one last time, he got up to go. He didn't have the energy or the will left to argue. Visibly wilted, he left the room where he'd spent the last hours, praying and pleading in equal measures. He wandered the halls, a haunted man, until eventually he found quiet. He slid down the wall onto the floor in one of the silent surgical hallways. He just couldn't walk any further, couldn't move.  
"Go home,"  
He heard a concerned, almost motherly voice from somewhere above him. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.   
"You aren't doing yourself any good here,"  
The warmth of another human body beside him jolted him back into reality. He couldn't ignore her. She wasn't going away.  
"You look like hell,"  
Well, thanks for pointing out the blatantly obvious, he thought bitterly.  
"I'm O.K,"  
"Blatantly not true,"  
She said in her very matter-of-fact, final British way.  
"I don't want to go home. I'm not just another patient, Lizzie, you can't fob me off. I know how bad this is,"  
The redhead sighed heavily, almost wearily. It was bad. He knew her chances and he definitely didn't like the odds she faced. He knew if anyone could pull through then Abby would but....Doubt, guilt and a feeling of impending grief  
were mingling in him, sucking the life out of him slowly.  
"Give it time,"  
"I'm trying,"  
"Where's Kovac?"  
"In with her, that's why I'm here,"  
He pulled his knees tight to his chest in that foetal, protective position adopted when feeling vulnerable. He was almost too numb to cry. It didn't seem quite enough. Kind of pointless. The only sound was of their breathing. It seemed somehow real, somehow human, compared to the artificial hiss of the respirator he'd heard for all those hours in Abby's room. Every time he thought her name it sent another bolt of pain stabbing into his brain. But  
there was nothing else on his mind, nothing else seemed important. Nothing else was important.  
"You spoken to him?"  
"No. He still wants to kill me. More than ever now,"  
"You blame him for it?"  
Her English accent had an incredulous sound to it. No, he didn't blame him. He'd feel the same way if roles were reversed. But the Croatians unusual out-of-character violent outburst had only landed the woman he claimed to love in hospital.  
"No. I don't blame him. What I did is unforgivable,"  
As if he needed any verbal reassurance of that fact.  
"I just don't understand how she ended up in there, not me. She's the innocent...."  
"The innocent? She's hardly that,"  
"Well, as if it matters anyway. She's still there and I'm still here,"  
Lizzie nodded. Arguing would go round in circles and they'd only end up in the same place. He'd still be beating himself up. That wouldn't stop until she woke up. If she woke up. She couldn't be sure even Abby'd pull through. No one  
could be sure.   
"We need to talk,"  
He looked up into the eyes of a very angry yet equally confused man and felt extremely small in comparison.  
"Luka, don't do this,"  
Lizzie stood between Kovac and him, her hand barring the way. Just let him have me, kill me, make this easier and quicker for us all, he thought bitterly making no attempt to raise himself from the cold linoleum floor.   
"Lizzie, you don't have to protect him,"  
"I think I do,"  
She stood her ground, aware that that was exactly what got Abby where she now was. She couldn't let them do this to each other. They couldn't keep this up - they'd destroy each other and themselves.  
"Please, Lizzie, get out of the way,"  
Luka sounded perfectly calm and patient, speaking the way you would to a small child almost.   
"I won't watch you do this,"  
"I just need to speak to him,"  
"Who's with her?"  
Lizzie demanded suddenly.  
"The nurse needed vitals, I needed to stretch my legs,"  
He felt a need to scoff at the Croatians last comment.   
"I was there for hours, never moved from her side,"  
"She didn't know you were there,"  
Luka snapped back.  
"You don't know that,"  
He challenged angrily, Luka backed down.   
"I was claustrophobic O.K? The atmosphere was suffocating me,"  
He was on his feet now. Lizzie still stood between them, ready to play peacemaker if needed. The look on Kovacs face told him everything because on it was etched the same emotions he felt only too strongly pounding in his own  
veins.  
"I know,"  
"I dare say you think you do,"  
The comment that sprang impetuosly to his throat was stopped by a solemnly raised hand.   
"No, let me finish. Do you know what it's like to sit there and watch the woman you are in love with unable to even breathe for herself? Can you have any comprehension at all of how difficult it is to see her with all her warmth gone?  
She doesn't even seem like a person anymore! And all you're doing is praying she'll wake up so you can tell her you love her,"  
He absorbed every word of the emotional tirade as a seperate blow. The ferocity and passion in the words wounded him but didn't surprise him. He knew that deep down inside maybe Luka did love her. Or maybe he was just territorial and protective. Either way it was clear marker of the distance between the two. He didn't feel the need to display his emotions and affections in a manner which sought attention. He internalised it all. This was why he didn't answer the questions. There was an answer, just not one he thought Kovac would want to hear right now. He let the other man believe he held higher ground in the argument. He let himself be viewed as the inferior being.  
There was no use in fighting preconceptions. He was the bad guy in everyone's eyes. Why try to change it? Inside he knew he was in the wrong in the events leading up to the accident. Inside he knew also knew he wasn't the only one.  
Luka had the moral high ground - the cheated lover and all. Everyone was feeling sorry for him. No one had asked why she'd strayed had they? It didn't seem important. He knew why. She'd been sick of being treated as just a warm  
body to come home to, sick of the routine of their relationship, sick, basically, of the genuine lack of affection and his extremely large moral high horse didn't help either. Luka had driven her away. He didn't condone his own actions. How could he? He should have had the sense to push her away and take her home. He didn't have the self control. Every time he thought of how it all ended up,  
pictured her lying there lifeless, he cursed his own nature a little more. Every time a little more of him died. The Croatian turned and walked away, more than a little self-satisfied. He almost wanted to hit him but violence was what got them here in the first place. Lizzie turned back to him, her face a little flushed.  
"That put you in your place huh?"  
She tried a half smile but got no response. He continued staring down the hallway even although the other doctor had long since disappeared from view.  
"I knew my place, Lizzie, I always know it, it never changes. I'm the bad guy, I'll never be anything else,"  
"That isn't true, he's just...."  
"It's not just him though is it?"  
Lizzie fell ominously silent, confirming that the answer he'd been expecting was correct.  
"Even she hated me. Ironic isn't it that I was the one who instigated this then? Being as she'd often rather drain boils than spend time in my company,"  
He smiled sadly at the countless knockbacks he'd recieved from her. Always ready with a smart remark and a sardonic, biting smile, that was Abby. Always on hand in a crisis. Good old Abby, reliable, sensible, witty, bright, loyal, loving, beautiful Abby. Come back to us please, don't go. I'll do whatever it takes, please God, come back. He inwardly pleaded a pointless case with an entity he wasn't entirely sure he believed in any more (if at all). He waited for the redhead to answer but truth was even for all her British logic and natural way with words she didn't have one.  
"I'm going to go,"  
She couldn't say anything more so she backed out and went back to work. He knew it was easier for her to do that than to stay and get any more involved in current situations. He was alone again in the silence.   
To be continued... 


	2. Paying The Price

He remembered back to the night in question. It didn't take much effort - the memories ran very close to the surface. Doused in pain though they now were, the right feeling he'd had remained. Guilt, betrayal hadn't entered his head  
until after there was no going back. He remembered, quite vividly, opening the door to see her there, the pleasant surprise he'd felt. She looked angry but something had instinctively told him it wasn't with him. He could tell he  
wasn't the epicentre of her anger but it didn't take a genius to figure out who was.  
"Abby,"  
"Don't ask!"  
The door, unaccustomed to violence, rattled off its hinges as she slammed it behind her.  
"O.k, I won't. Come in, make yourself at home,"  
She paced the same line over and over. He watched her, dizzily, unnerved by her constant movement.  
"Hey, cool it, you'll wear a hole in the carpet,"  
"Cool it? Why should I?"  
"'Cause you'll send yourself into cardiac arrest if you don't,"  
She was worked into a frenzy, a bundle of nervous energy. He was waiting for the release, waiting for her to explode.  
"I'm just...Why doesn't he want me?"  
Her voice was near pleading, looking to him for some kind of gratification almost.   
"He does. He's just..."  
"Look, he blows hot and cold so often and I'm so sick of giving,"  
He opened his mouth to speak but any comment died on his lips when he noted the fire in her eyes.  
"I shouldn't have to,"  
"No,"  
"Then let me take,"  
Why had he done it? That was relatively easy to answer. In the context of the moment, pure intoxication of a kind which left him powerless. It was not the first time he'd let his body overrule his brain, it wouldn't be the last either but it was definitely the worst. Just look how it had ended up. She, she was as good as gone. He didn't have to let her kiss him, he didn't, could have pushed her away quite easily. Would have, should have. But once her lips  
were on his, his fate was sealed and therefore so was hers. Every word, every action, every touch weighed more every time it played on his mind. There was nothing he could do except wait. No number of apologies would ever make this  
right. The word sorry was uselessly overrated. He felt useless above all else, there was no will left in him to think or do or believe. He was in a meltdown.   
"How is she?"  
He was aware he was being spoken to. He couldn't summon the energy to speak. He was barely able to keep functioning.  
"Are you...Don't ignore me!"  
The person realised the stupidity of the question they were going to ask and backtracked. He wasn't ignoring them. There wasn't an answer, really, because she wasn't she. She wasn't there. Things didn't change with coma patients.  
They either died or recovered. And Abby hadn't done either. Yet.   
"I'm not,"  
"Ah, it speaks,"  
"Give over,"  
He practically spat the words. Conversation was the last thing he wanted. He wanted solitude. He didn't even know where he was, let alone who he was actually talking to. He didn't actually care.   
"Calm down, there's no need to bite my head off,"  
"She hasn't changed. She's still the same. Go and see her if you're that concerned,"  
He walked away. Left whoever it was standing there. He didn't want any sympathy. He didn't deserve any sympathy either. And anyone who even uttered the words 'I understand' was lying. No one could. Suddenly, in the numb silence, he heard his pager go off. Who was it? Didn't they know? Then he retrieved the offending article from his pocket and looked at the number. The ICU. Why wasn't he expecting this? It was time to go back. Everything today had happened so fast. Too fast by far. He made his way back to her room, retracing steps he'd already made with a heavy heart. He didn't look up as he entered, scared of what he would see. Whatever the truth was he didn't want to face it yet. He wasn't ready yet. After a few moments of waiting in the silence, composing himself as best he could, though why he bothered when the next few minutes would just make him fall apart again he didn't know, he raised his head. The first thing he saw was Luka's face. It was a stone mask.The Croatian no longer expressed any emotion. No one had to say anything. He didn't need to look at the monitors to confirm his worst fears. They were reality. She'd died. Questions lived and died momentarily in his mind and he felt his knees begin to tremble. Any life that had been left in him drained from his body in that instant. He groped for the doorframe in the overwhelming, black silence, anything to keep him from collapsing. His world rained down on him and this time there was no hope for redemption. He felt the other mans eyes on him, not accusing and not angry but hopeless.   
"What happened?"  
He stammered slowly.  
"She coded."  
Two words with devastating impact. How many times as medical professionals had they told people about death? How many times had they used those words themselves? Now they meant so much more. Whenever he heard those words from this moment on, he knew he'd see her face, visualise this moment. Pain ripped him apart, shattering his being into a million tiny pieces. Pulling together the last of his strength he walked over to the bed. He looked down on  
her, surrounded by machines and tubes. She wasn't Abby anymore. She may look like Abby, but the soul inside was gone. Her peace in death was horrifingly dissimilar to her unrest on earth. But unrest was resolvable. She could have been this peaceful...why hadn't she lived? Why was this her time? When she still had so much to give. He wished himself in her place, knowing it was useless, but wishing all the same. No one would miss him the way he knew she'd be missed.   
"We did this, Dave,"  
Luka murmered, his eyes never faltering in their desperate, loving gaze. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He felt maybe he'd misjudged the Croatian.   
"I know,"  
He answered, the depth of sadness he felt not expressed fully in his voice. It never could be. He was here and she was gone. It wasn't right. And, he knew, it was his fault. 


End file.
